Heartfelt Sounds (26 page)
Vivek silences him with a pointed stare—his glassy eyes fixed on the tall man's face. “Something comes for us all.” he warns—hissing. “But it will
wait.”
And Ran stills in his chair. Nyx inhales sharply as my fingers creep towards my throat.
It feels like something's
choking
me.
“The Raven brought the dead back to life. Mortals became immortal—stuck on these earthly plains—while others who passed the dragon's judgment went on into eternity. Those that failed stayed here, and fed up with being denied passage into the underworld—they fought back against the Weaver's dragon under one banner.”
The final card is flipped. A scream rips through the silence outside.
We freeze in an instant as the card is revealed.
A man on fire.
I croak—I try to speak—but no words come. Nothing comes as I stare at blackened ground covered in pulsing red veins painted upon the card. A man—a man on
fire.
I've seen this before.
I've
been
there!
Vivek turns his murky eyes to me. “The Lord of Fire—the Gate of Dawn—,”
The Dawnlord—
I try to murmur.
As the old man brings the card to rest beside the card that once laid at the center of his circle. He flips his last and final card. Ushers the two cards together and pushes them towards me.
I look at the final card, staring into a mirror.
As the Voice of the East stares back.
Nyx falls from her chair, collapsing to the floor. I watch her drop to her knees and touch her head to the floorboards with her arms planted over her head. Her palms smack into prayer position. I watch her shoulders tremble.
“You gave me Calanthe's breath,” she murmurs from her place, “if I die—if I
die
, for me that's
it!
You never gave me a
soul.”
There's another shriek outside—the high pitched crow of a woman's voice. I move in my seat towards Nyx's body. I stand. I open my arms, but I am unable to speak.
These cards—they mean
nothing.
“Enough of this nonsense—all
I
know is that
she
needs to go to Csilla.” Ran snaps, his chair screeching against the floor as he shoots to standing. “So give her back her voice, old man, and we'll be gone.”
“Please—
please, Naia—
Voice of the East! Bridge my way—,”
Ran shoves past me. Leans towards Nyx with his hands clenched into fists. “Get
up!”
“If I
die—,”
“We all go to the same damned place, girl. God or no god—we all go to the same fucking place.”
My gaze moves to the table—only to find it cleared. The cards and old Vivek gone. Vanished in what seems like an instant. Blue light still bobs upon a candle, brightening this grimy place up. But he's gone. Not even his chair remains—almost as if he was never there.
I still cannot speak.
“Nyx—
get up.”
Nyx's clasped hands tremble. “No—
no, I can't.
Before—back then, I
knew
I was damned. The Lady Diviner put those god pieces inside of me—and others—
so many others.
I was corrupt—I couldn't sleep. I couldn't
dream—I couldn't dream anymore.
I ate other humans—blood, blood
satisfied me.
But now—,” and she brings her head up. She's crying—poor Nyx is
crying
with little trails of wet creeping down her cheeks.
She hasn't grown a bit—my mind tells me as I crouch. I crouch and offer her a hand.
Nyx swipes it away. Slapping at me.
“You have cured me.” she hisses, bringing her forehead back to the floorboards. “You could have cured them too—the others. The girls—but now—heaven won't accept them. The underworld will throw them to purgatory because their souls are
corrupt.
But I—I
know I—,”
Another scream. Another pause. Another rap of silence shattered by a high-pitched bleating.
“
Grant me a soul.”
she hisses from her place.
A new shriek makes her tense—makes me hunch my shoulders up to my ears. This one is close—the scream raking at our ears like talons ripping through flesh. This scream—this scream is
close.
Ran grips my forearm—tries to pull me up. But I steal my arm away—turn my gaze towards him and almost fall over from my position near Nyx.
A figure shades the entrance to Vivek's hideaway. A woman garbed all in black, a low hood concealing her face. The hood dropping into a sharp point that accentuates a smile. Red lips stretch upon a pale, oval, face.
“Did you enjoy my song?” her voice is cutting. Edged with a croaking dryness. Her smile reaches to the far corners of her face as her bottom lip drops. As bones crackle, shattering at uneven intervals as her jaw unhinges and her mouth becomes an oblong terror. The sound comes again—the long
shriek
of a wraith that rips at our ears. I slap my hands to both sides of my head—covering my ears as Ran plugs his own—shielding his face with his right arm.
Nyx stands. “Vivek! Vivek come
out!”
she shouts—blowing out her voice to be heard.
Laughter resonates. The sleepy guffaw resounding as Vivek's answer as the woman in black closes her mouth—bones clicking back into place.
“I've walked from the Wish to find you. To put you
back
in your place.”
I open my mouth—willing myself to speak. But nothing comes. Nothing comes as her red lips smile.
“And the gods have taken your voice as punishment. How fitting.” she murmurs—approaching me. She plants a palm onto Ran's chest and with one violent movement—she shoves him towards the far wall. I hear his body thump to the wood of the floor as the air
hisses
from him. I hear Nyx move behind me.
And I shoot my arm out, stopping her. Barring her from moving against the woman.
I stare into eyes I cannot see as the woman's black cowl hides her face.
“Do you hear the silence?” she asks me, closing the space between us. Her face is but inches away from my own. “Do you
hear
it? City streets—deafened. Silenced by the flock. Do you hear it?”
Wind moans outside. Rushing through streets that sound empty. That sound devoid of life.
I make no move to speak.
“Silence. It is beautiful—pure and unabated
silence.
Can you hear it, Naia? The black birds have flown—and the time has come that your interwoven ties to the gateway be
severed.”
Lore. Lore—I
know
it's you. Show yourself—show your face!
The hood stays, as does her smile.
“I knew you'd kill her. I knew you'd take her life for this.”
I feel Nyx's chest heave against my arm. Her breath comes in trembling hisses.
“And you were told what would happen—
should you fail.”
My eyes widen. I grind my teeth as she opens her mouth to laugh, a rough cackle escapes through parted lips.
“I have woven—
everything
into being! You—your fate! Your dilemma and your destiny!” and she throws her arms wide—her voice rises. “I have done everything!
Everything!
But now,” and she lowers her arms. Braces a hand upon my shoulder and digs her nails into the silk of my gown. “there is more to be done. If we want the gods to rise again and bring Sorrel a moment of peace—there is
more
we must do.”
Remove your hood—show your face! I know who you
are!
Lips curl into a satisfied smile. The hood falls. “No,” she breathes. “you do not.”
Violet eyes lock with my own—and white pain explodes behind my eyes. A smoky blackness trails behind it—blinding me. Making me deaf.
And I am adrift.
In a field of nowhere.
…
Calm yourself.
And here you are again.
Go back—go back you your world, mortal!
Why have you returned?
Yarne touched all of us in the way only a mother could. Not an earth bound, human, mother—but a mother from on high. A goddess. She taught us how to harness our gifts—our talents. She taught us the rules of creation. While some had a talent for dancing—for swift feet work—others could weave divine tapestries. Some could write the world into being on a scroll, while others could draw life through the agile flick of a precise brush. Some could sing.
I could sing.
And my eyes open. I expect to touch black earth. I expect to push away pulsating red veins and look into a sky that's crimson, but I do not. An emerald sea wafts out around me. Sparkling grass kissed by a blue sky above.
I push myself up to standing.
I face a mirror.
Why have you returned?
The woman inside intones—
I
intone.
She is dressed like a goddess—in a dress like breathing ocean waves. Her hair cascades around her, acting as her halo. As her crown of authority. She has my skin—dark. Caramel. She has my wide eyes and my full lips. She is me—in every way, shape, and form—she
is
me. But her air holds divine authority. Holds a sureness of self.
But she is my reflection. My inner aura thrown back at me by a tall plate of reflecting glass.
I hold my hand towards it—she does the same.
Why have you returned?
I open my mouth to speak—but my throat constricts. I move my hand away, but she crooks a finger towards me. Beckoning me to come. I plant my feet in the grass—staring at her.
Ah, your purpose—your voice.
I take a step towards her as a breeze glides by. Summer winds carry soft pink petals that scatter like sweet rain.
You have come to seek it.
I press my hands upon the glass. It shivers beneath my weight and ripples like the surface of a lake. Her palms find my own as she searches my face. My eyes.
I stare back.
Meet the fire when it comes. Meet it with
rain.
And it comes down—rain. Sudden and hurried—rushing from a cloudless sky to pelt me. To drown me in godly tears. Before long, I'm soaked—hair sticking to my forehead as my gown glues itself to my skin. The rain is warm—refreshing as I stand in it. As I back away from the mirror and raise my face to meet it—the rain. I open my arms and turn my palms towards the sky.
To use this power, you must
take.
Take from the land. The sea. The sky.
To use this power, child, you must
take.
As I plant my naked feet in the wet grass, blades crawl between my toes. I feel as if roots are reaching from the soles of my feet—reaching—
reaching—
only to curl beneath the dirt and extend towards the hot, molten, core of the world—
whatever world this was.
When I open my hands—rain slides through the crevices of my fingers. The little droplets sizzle on me—steam wafts up towards the heavens and it makes me feel new. Makes me feel whole.
Whatever happens to me—whatever happens—
My purpose is to bring
peace.
Your purpose is to
sing.
The voice booms—thunder rolls against the sky as rain pours. As rain continues to fall.
Your purpose has always been to
sing.
My voice took lives—
and the memory of the crazed women rushing past me in that hall flashes, creeping from the corners of my mind.
But singing—singing in the face of fear is what felt natural. It's what felt
right.
Their kind was never meant to walk your plains. Their kind was a mistake made from misfortune—from the careless hands of another. Another vessel.
My eyes snap open.
Shanti.
The Weaver.
She sent me here—sent me here to reclaim my voice.
Even gods repent, child. She sent you here to start anew.
As you shall, when your time comes.
But, for the time being—
sing.
Sing and watch for the Restoration.
Meet the coming fire—
I breathe. Cool air rushes through my nostrils and the rain stops—pausing midair as the world seems to inhale. To stop and take a breath.
The mirror falls away as my reflection steps forth—she is solid now. A person—a goddess in every right.
The Voice of the East.
—with
rain
.
And she becomes ethereal. Her person fading—her body and garments translucent as she approaches me. As she brushes away the frozen droplets in the air and stretches an arm out to reach for me. I let her. I come forth and let her place her thumb to my forehead. A burning sensation erupts. Her skin is like
fire.
As my voice returns—air filling my lungs. Rushing into me.
I inhale.
Sing.
To return to your world, you must sing.
My eyes open to darkness. Dripping water surrounds me, as my gown sticks to me—slick with sweat and humidity. My cheek is flush against a slimy wall of gray rock and I move my face away from it, staring forward as a figure cloaked in black stands before me.
“You're not coming with us?” I hear Nyx say.
There's an old laugh, a dry croak. “I am old, child. Not to mention—I'm also
blind.”
I move my gaze towards the noise and notice white light glimmering from a small hole. Nyx climbs down from it, her fingers curling around black rungs of steel. “You won't be
any
safer if you squat here! The streets are
empty,
Vivek!”
The figure in black crouches before me, kneeling with a hand upon her knee. I watch Shanti's face light up as silver tinged hair floods forth, rolling over her shoulders.
“And that is ominous
indeed.”
the old man teases from up above. “Get going, now. Before they realize you've vanished. Get
going.”
And a scraping sound—of heavy iron hissing against splintered wood—echoes throughout this dark and humid landscape as the light above slowly disappears. A bright sliver of white shines down before it's cut away—the porthole above sliding closed with a
slam.